What Kills Me (3 page)

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just found out
about the curfew. It’s so ridiculous.”

Miyuki came toward me with her head
cocked to the side. “It’s him,” I whispered. I felt giddy. Her
mouth made a small O and she poked her head out the window. Paolo
waved.

“He is cute,” she whispered to
me.

“So, are you free tomorrow?” I
asked.

“No.”

“Oh,” I said, the smile fading from my
face.

“But I am free now.”

“I can’t leave the house.”

“Of course you can.”

“No, you don’t understand. My hosts
aren’t letting me out.”

“How will they know that you are
gone?”

“Well, they’ll see me walk out the
front door.”

“But you can come through the
window.”

I laughed. “That’s true but my arms
are a little tired from flying out the window earlier
today.”

He didn’t laugh. “Who said anything
about flying?”

He pointed in front of him so I leaned
further out the window and looked down. Someone had parked a white
van below my second-story window.

“I will help you down. We will go for
gelato, take a beautiful stroll, and I will have you safe at home
in an hour.”

An hour. Sofia and Giuseppe would be
fast asleep by then and I could sneak back through the front
door.

This is
crazy
.

I couldn’t climb out my window like a
ninja. I’d fall, or I’d get caught.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Please?”

I glanced at Miyuki. Her eyebrows were
furrowed. I could stay here with Miyuki and study. Or I could climb
out the window and live a little. I could chase the adventure that
I had traveled across an ocean for. I looked back at Paolo, who was
grinning. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a what appeared
to be a clump of tissue. He opened his palm. It was a white rose.
He opened his arms to me. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe
I was about to surrender.

“How can I say no?” I said. “Hang on a
sec.”

I got ready in an elated flurry. I
tore off my pajamas, changed into a white eyelet sundress, and
wiggled my feet into red ballet flats. I slung a small,
burgundy-suede satchel across my chest and jammed my keys and
Sofia’s address into the front pocket. Miyuki watched me with wide
eyes but she didn’t say anything.

I returned to the window and scanned
the dark street for Paolo. I heard my name and saw him standing
behind the van. He put one foot on the bumper, one hand on the
roof, and in one motion hopped onto the vehicle. He dropped the
rose and stretched his arms toward me.

“How am I going to do this?” I
muttered. “Miyuki, if I fall on my head, please tell my family that
I loved them. And please go ahead and take that fanny pack in my
closet that you keep eyeing.”

“Be careful,” she said.

I put my feet through the
window so I was sitting on the sill. Miyuki grabbed my arm as I
turned and struggled onto my stomach. The sill dug into my
gut.
This is a disaster.
I had my butt in his face and my skirt was riding
up.
Why did I wear a dress to climb out a
window?
Groaning, I shifted myself so that
I was propped up by my elbows.
What
now?

I felt Paolo grip my hips and lift me
from the window. I grabbed his hands. He lowered me gently, my back
to his chest, my ear against his mouth. “There you go,” he
whispered. “Safe and sound.” He let me go and when I turned around,
he had already jumped off the van. I smoothed my skirt under me,
sat on the roof, and slid off into his arms. We stood in the street
facing each other, his hands on my waist. I felt my face flush but
I could not break from his gaze. My mind went blank.

“So how about what you owe me?” he
said.

“What?”

“Gelato. Let’s go get one.”

He grabbed the rose from the roof of
the van and presented it to me. I put the bloom to my nose and
covered my mouth to hide a wide smile. I had done it. Ryka would be
so proud.

“Encouraging me to break curfew and
jump out of windows? You’re trouble.”

“I promise, no more jumping out of
windows,” he said.

“Good. I’m never doing that
again.”

We stopped at a café for a strawberry
gelato and continued walking. I juggled the rose, my spoon, and my
cup of gelato while maneuvering around pedestrians and on-coming
Vespas. I felt unbalanced on the bumpy stone streets. Paolo never
appeared distracted. He examined my face, ignoring his melting
dessert.

“What?” I said.

“What?”

“Why do you keep looking at me like
that? What are you thinking?”

“I think you are beautiful,” he
said.

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what else
to say. I brushed my hair behind my ear. But I had done so with the
hand holding my spoon, dripping pink globs into my hair.

“Oh, crap.”

“Don’t move,” he said. I froze as he
stepped close to me and ran his fingers into my hair. “Your hair
smells like strawberries now.”

“That was my plan.”

“Mmm.”

Feeling shy, I inched away. “So, how
long have you lived in Rome?”

“For an eternity, it
seems.”

“You were born here?”

He nodded.

“Your English is amazing. Have you
ever been anywhere else?”

“I’ve been everywhere
else.”

We crossed the street and Paolo pulled
on my elbow to keep me from walking into a passing
bicycle.

“Seriously?”

“I like to travel.”

“Yeah, but how did you get to travel
so much?”

He paused. “My father, he is a
diplomat.”

“So what are your favorite
cities?”

“Tokyo is amazing. Very clean. I have
friends in Udaipur in India. The most beautiful lakes that you’ve
ever seen.”

“I have this dream of
traveling the world and taking pictures for
National Geographic
magazine.”

“Why don’t you?”

I grinned. “Maybe one day. My parents
want me to study something practical first—you know, get a
degree.”

As we walked by a store with stained
glass windows, the shopkeeper came out and said something in
Italian. Paolo stopped on the street corner to talk to him. I
leaned over the stall in front of the shop and examined the
necklaces and bracelets littering the table. I picked up a silver
pendant in the shape of a coin; the image of a butterfly was etched
on its surface.

“Do you like it?” Paolo
asked.

“It’s pretty.”

Paolo slipped his fingers through the
chain, pulling it from me. He undid the clasp.

“Wait,” I said.

“Please,” he said, putting the chain
around my neck.

The pendant was cool against my chest.
I pressed it against my skin to warm it up. Paolo reached into his
pocket and pulled out some money.

“No, please, I can’t accept
this.”

He handed the bills to the shopkeeper.
“Zee, you are a guest in my city. Let me treat you. As a thank you
for the gelato.”

“The gelato was a thank you for
helping me yesterday.”

“Please. This is my
pleasure.”

“Thank you,” I said. We crossed the
street. “A rose, a necklace? Way to set the bar, Paolo.”

“I just want you to like
me.”

“Is this what it takes to get a girl
to like you?”

“You tell me.”

It was working. The prospect of a
summer of romance with him thrilled me.

“It’s not necessary. But it is
appreciated,” I said.

Down an empty street, he set his
uneaten gelato in a plant pot and sauntered up to a walled
property. A blanket of ivy covered the stone wall and the gated
entrance. He gripped the iron bars and motioned with a nod for me
to join him. Inside the yard, two street lamps illuminated a brick
building with a pitched roof. A large circular window on the front
of its unremarkable façade made the structure look like a Cyclops.
The ominous silhouette of a slim bell tower topped with a cross
emerged from the back of the building.

“This church is special,” Paolo
murmured. “People say that this church is built over a well that is
sacred to the gods.”

He took the empty cup of gelato from
my hand and set it on the ground.

“Let’s take a closer look,” he
said.

“How?”

He jumped, grabbed a horizontal bar at
the top of the gate and pulled himself up. He perched there for a
second and then vaulted over to the other side. My mouth fell
open.

“You didn’t just do that,” I said as
he smiled at me from the other side. “Are you some kind of
gymnast?”

Paolo fiddled with the latch before
pulling the door open, snapping vines of ivy. He parted the green
curtains and extended his hand.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be
here,” I said.

“I come here once a week and there’s
never anyone around,” he said. “We’ll just take a quick look. It’s
an incredible place. You’ve never seen anything like
it.”

I just stared at his
hand.
I can’t. I can’t
trespass.

“Please? I planned this as a surprise
for you,” he said.

I looked at his face, saw
it change from excited to disappointed, and I felt bad. He had
thoughtfully planned this and I didn’t want to be a spoilsport. I
had come this far already.
Just a quick
look.
My hand slipped into his and he
interlaced our fingers while I ducked under the ivy and stepped
over a vine. The courtyard was barren, the grass long and uneven.
We walked around to the side of the church. I listened and heard
nothing but the crunch of grit under our feet and the chorus of
crickets. I was conscious of the softness of his cool palm and our
fingers rubbing together as we moved.

Paolo stopped and opened a door to the
building. The door creaked as he pushed it.

What if we got
caught?

“Uh, Paolo,” I whispered. I tried to
pull back but he held my hand firmly. “I don’t think this is a good
idea.”

“Don’t worry. I come here all the time
to think.”

I swallowed and resolved to trust him.
Relationships were built on trust. And being an adventurer required
courage. He led me inside, through the darkness, toward a yellow
glow. I held my breath and followed him into the sanctuary, where I
sighed in awe. “Wow.”

I stared across twenty pews
to the glowing altar. A portrait of the crucifixion hung above rows
of gold candelabras. Paintings of angels and saints adorned every
wall and every column. I took in the white marble floors and the
colorful, coffered ceiling. I ran my hand along a wooden collection
box and tried to read the sign: “
Per I
bambini del terzo mondo.
”

“It’s for children in the third
world,” Paolo said.

I set the rose down on the box and
grabbed my purse, but then I realized I’d spent all of my money on
gelato. Paolo dropped a coin into the slot. I smiled at
him.

“You’re a sweet girl,” he
whispered.

He brushed a strand of hair from my
face, his fingertips tracing a soft line across my forehead and
down my cheek. I became shy and showed him the top of my head. He
lifted my chin so that our eyes met, our faces inches
apart.

I had stopped breathing. I felt as if,
at any moment, I would melt into the floor. As he leaned in, I
fixated on his parted lips and I felt his hand slip around my
waist. I thought he was going to kiss my forehead. Instead, he
rested the side of his mouth against my temple and whispered in my
ear.

“Zee?”

“Yes,” I said,
breathlessly.

“Now that I have you here all alone,
what do you think I’m going to do to you?”

His voice was low, his breath
cool.

I swallowed. “What?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

I thought I had misheard
him.

But his grip told me that everything
had changed and that everything was wrong. I pushed back against
his hand and his fingers dug into my back. He grabbed my neck and I
gasped.

No. This can’t be
happening.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. His
thumb pressed the skin under my jaw and a shock of pain ripped
through me, causing my knees to buckle.

“Ow!” I cried. “You’re hurting me!” I
drew a breath to scream and he crushed me against his chest. He was
so strong.

“Don’t scream,” he said into my
ear.

Inhaling, he dragged his nose against
my cheek. Then I felt his tongue, cold and slimy, lap my chin. A
whimper escaped from my lips.